To Love and To Cherish
by Aulizia
Summary: Set a year after the drama of 3.03. Lady Edith is living and working in London when a chance encounter changes the course of her life- or perhaps merely puts it back on track. Story was planned after the airing of 3.03 and before the airing of 3.05 so I imagine it will be completely AU before too long.
1. Chapter 1

**To Love and To Cherish**

Neither Downton Abbey nor its characters belong to me. Unfortunately. But Edith and Anthony have taken up residence in my brain! I'm hoping if I write them a story they might leave me in peace.

Set a year after the drama of 3.03. Lady Edith is living and working in London when a chance encounter changes the course of her life- or perhaps merely puts it back on track. Story was planned after the airing of 3.03 and before the airing of 3.05 so I imagine it will be completely AU before too long.

* * *

**I.**

_"…till death us do part…"_

Lady Edith Crawley stepped inside Abrams and Howard Solicitors and out of a heavy burst of London rain.

It was lunchtime and the offices were quiet.

Thanks, in part, to cousin Matthew, although he _claimed_ to have had no hand in the matter, she had been working as a legal secretary at the firm for close to six months. It was longer than that since she had escaped from Downton Abbey, but life in London living under the same roof as her Aunt Rosamund had proven to be almost as much of a trial as life at home. It had become imperative to find a little extra independence.

She knew her parents were still deciding whether or not they should disown her for shaming the family with paid employment. She doubted her grandmother would ever recover.

Edith stripped off her gloves and patted her damp hair as she climbed the stairs to her desk. The low murmur of voices could be heard coming from inside Mr Howard's office.

A frown clouded Edith's face. It was unusual for one of the partners to be working at this time of day. Her curiosity was piqued, but also her annoyance. More than anything she had hoped to sit quietly at her desk for the remainder of her lunch and work on her new article for _The Times_. It was going to be a piece on the NUWSS rally being held the next day.

Sighing softly to herself, she strolled into the little private cloakroom that was used by the secretaries. She shrugged off her coat and inspected her reflection in a mirror that hung on the wall. Her hairdo had faired much better than expected, and if the absentminded smile that tried tugging at her lips didn't entirely reach her eyes, well, she had long stopped noticing.

"-and you're quite sure about this?"

"Quite sure."

Edith jumped, and dropped her coat on the floor. She held her breath. It was a trick of her ears. It had to be. But that didn't stop her sinking further into the cloakroom, so as to be unseen by the gentlemen exiting Mr Howard's office.

"Why don't you at least come around for dinner tonight? Kathleen would love to see you."

"No, no, thank you, but no, I have an early train to catch in the morning."

"To Scotland?"

Edith hugged her arms to her chest as something unspoken passed between the men. She pressed her hand tight against her mouth for fear she would betray herself.

It _was not_- it _could not_ be- and yet that _voice_.

"It will not take me long to finalise things, Sir Anthony. Why don't you stay in London until then?"

"No, truly, I cannot."

Edith sank back into the coat rack. Pain splintered through her entire body, pain that made it impossible to follow anymore of the conversation. The voices soon faded away as the gentlemen descended the stairs. The second this fact registered in Edith's mind she ran from the cloakroom and across the secretaries' work area to look out of the window.

Her breath came in unsteady gasps as she stared down onto the street. She caught just the barest glimpse of his retreating form before he was lost in the rain.

It was twelve months, almost, since Edith had consigned herself to a life of spinsterhood. Twelve months of slowly trying to put the fragile pieces of her heart back together. She hadn't realised just how very precariously they were set. How the whisper of his voice and the glimpse of his shadow would undo her completely.

She forced herself to return to her desk. Slow, wooden steps had her seated in her usual position a second before Mr Howard returned from saying his farewells.

"Miss Crawley!"

Edith had dropped the title of 'lady' in her professional life. Just one more fact that had almost caused her grandmother an apoplexy. Even now, Edith herself was still getting used to her new name. She hoped that Mr Howard would think that this was the reason why she didn't immediately lift her head to answer his surprised greeting.

"Mr Howard," she nodded, once she thought she was in command of her emotions. "Can I help you?"

"How long-!" The portly gentleman coughed and a blank mask settled over his features. "I thought I told you to treat yourself to a long lunch today? You were meeting your chap from the newspaper, I understood?"

"Yes, I- I did meet him." Edith nodded, numbly. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had sat in a bustling London restaurant making deliberately light conversation with the editor of _The Times_. "He had an appointment with a Member of Parliament this afternoon."

"I see."

Mr Howard hesitated. Edith was just slowly beginning to realise why. Why her taciturn employer had been in such a rush to have her take her lunch out of the office that day. Why he had been so forceful in his insistence that she take her time and not hurry back to work.

She wasn't supposed to know about his meeting with Sir Anthony.

And that didn't make any sense at all.

Edith had been careful to conceal as much of her past as possible. None of her new acquaintances should have had the slightest reason to even imagine that an encounter between her and Sir Anthony Strallan should be avoided at all costs.

Which made her start to wonder if there were other critical morsels of information that were being concealed from her.

"I- I just got back," she said, for Mr Howard was still watching her. She adopted the vacant smile that had served her through much of her life at Downton. "You've just finished meeting with a client?" she asked innocently, unwilling to raise suspicion. "I thought I heard a gentleman leaving while I was in the cloakroom?"

Mr Howard's relief was palpable.

"Indeed yes, the family are very old valued clients." Mr Howard stepped away from Edith's desk. He was almost talking to himself as he made his way back to his office. "And so you didn't see- but of course you didn't-" He turned back to Edith just before disappearing. "I shall be working for an hour and then going out to meet another client. Please see that I'm not disturbed, Miss Crawley."

"Of course, sir."

Edith's brittle smile slipped from her face as soon as she was alone. A glance at the clock told her that she had five minutes to compose herself before everyone else returned for the afternoon. Five minutes before the office became a bustling hive of activity.

Five minutes was not nearly long enough.

"Oh dear, did lunch not go well?"

Rose and Margaret came over as soon as they returned and saw Edith's drawn complexion and distant expression.

"Why should lunch not have gone well?"

"Darling, you look ghastly! What did he say to you?"

_I can't do this…_

Edith clamped her hands under the desk to conceal the way they trembled. She _wasn't_ going to remember!

"Truly, lunch was a very pleasant, very normal affair," she persisted, fighting to summon a smile. "I simply-"

"Ladies! I don't believe we employ you to talk. Haven't you work to do?"

Edith had never in her life been more pleased to see strict old Mr Abrams. She settled down to her typing, and studiously avoided catching the eye of either of the other secretaries.

At least she tried to settle down to her typing. She couldn't focus. It was hardly surprising. As hard as she had tried to blot _that_ day from her memory, moments of perfect happiness destroyed kept flashing to the forefront of her mind.

Good lord, she thought she was over all this!

Well, 'over' in the sense that she had locked away that part of her heart, consigning the memory of Sir Anthony Strallan to a deeply hidden, almost forgotten corner of her soul.

_What had he been doing here anyway?_ Edith asked herself, as she stabbed at the keys of her typewriter.

She lifted her head to stare at Mr Howard's office door. An appointment. That was what he had called his meeting. With a client. So Anthony. _Sir_ Anthony, she corrected herself savagely. He had come on business. And so there would be paperwork, records pertaining to that business inside Mr Howard's office.

It would be beneath her to snoop.

It would be something banal and trivial.

It would cost her job if she was discovered.

But perhaps, if she just peeked, that would be enough, enough to contain this strange compulsion that she could feel starting to seize her. Because it scared her, what she was feeling, so much more than what she was remembering.

Edith's opportunity arrived half an hour after Mr Howard left for his afternoon meeting. Mr Abrams laid some papers on her desk.

"I'd like a copy of these made for Mr Howard, Miss Crawley."

"Of course, sir."

She had never typed so quickly in all her life. The document was littered with mistakes. She would be reprimanded severely for her inattention, but all that mattered to her in this moment was having an excuse to enter Mr Howard's office and look for Sir Anthony's file.

She stood. Her heart was drumming a tattoo in her chest. She rubbed her damp hands on her skirt before she picked up the papers and crossed the short distance to the office door. She fumbled clumsily with the handle, sure that every other eye in the room was on her. A guilty glance over her shoulder told her she was wrong. Rose was gazing idly out of the window and Margaret was chatting to one of the junior solicitors.

Relieved, for the moment at least, Edith finally managed to slip inside Mr Howard's office. She closed the door carefully and walked over to his desk. It was empty. Her stomach dropped. She had expected to find the last file that he had been working on left in plain sight.

She eyed the heavy mahogany drawers of his desk. Did she dare? Best not to think about it too deeply, she decided, pulling open one drawer, then another, and another. There. Almost hidden under a clutter of old papers, as though it had been deliberately buried, lay what she was looking for.

She opened the file without stopping to take a breath, but gave a visible start at the document's heading.

**LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT**

**Sir Anthony Phillip Strallan, Bt.**

Edith started to put the papers away. She shouldn't- she really shouldn't- but then, not halfway down the page, she saw it. Her name. And then of course, she couldn't possibly stop reading.

Her blood ran hot and then cold. Her eyes widened. Her breath laboured. How dare he? _How dare he!_ There were other papers. Scraps of detail. A London address. She slapped the file shut. Shaking with the knowledge of what she had just learned.

She replaced the file in its hiding place, though its contents were now etched at the forefront of her mind. Her movements were stilted, controlled, as though she was afraid she might shatter at any moment if she didn't repress what she was feeling. That was how she emerged from Mr Howard's office and made her way back to her desk.

"Good grief, are you all right?" Rose hurried over and leaned across Edith's desk. "You're so pale!"

"I'm fine," she insisted, because really, pretending that she was fine was what she had been forced to do for the majority of her life.


	2. Chapter 2

**II.**

_"…with all my worldly goods I thee endow…"_

Edith stood outside a fine, if unremarkable, London town house and told herself to walk away. Only her feet wouldn't obey.

She had spent all afternoon thinking of things she wanted to say to Sir Anthony. No. That wasn't true. She had spent the last year thinking of things she wanted to say to him. The trouble being that very little of what she wanted to say left her pride in tact.

And that was why she should leave.

But she didn't.

It took perhaps another minute for Edith to realise that she was being watched, and at least that long again before she could do anything but simply stare up into the face of the man she ought to have married.

How very foolish- to have been so focused on the house that she had failed to notice its owner walking along the pavement towards her.

Remarkably, Sir Anthony was first to speak.

"Can I help you, Lady Edith?"

The simple question sounded as though it had been torn from his lips. She almost faltered, because she was sure, from the dark shadows in his painfully blue eyes, he had never wanted to see her again.

"No, you cannot help me." The hiss of her reply was barely louder than a whisper, but she saw the way his jaw clenched in response. She took a deep breath to steel her nerves before she continued, "But I should dearly like to know what right you think you have to leave me a small fortune on your death!"

If Sir Anthony was surprised she knew his plans he gave no visible sign. He was simply silent for several long moments, moments in which Edith forbid herself from drinking in the sight of him.

When he spoke at last, it was not to her, but to the top of her head.

"I know I have no right at all. But I shall do so nevertheless."

Edith tensed angrily. She balled her hands into fists by her sides. She wanted, she realised, to provoke something more than stilted civility from him.

"I won't accept it!"

"And I will not argue with you in the street."

"Why not?" she demanded, feeling reckless. "Aren't all of our personal affairs to be aired in public?"

Sir Anthony took a step closer. Too close, it gave Edith momentary pause. She was overwhelmed by the subtle masculine scent of him. It teased the remembrance of a dozen bittersweet moments from her memory.

His voice was low when he spoke.

"You have every right to be angry with me-"

"Yes! I do! I certainly-!"

And then his hand was on her arm. She could feel the strength of his fingers through the layers of fabric that separated them. Her heart stuttered.

"But I repeat, I will not argue with you in the street."

"Then you had best take me inside!"

He hesitated only a moment before he marched her up the steps to his front door- a front door that swung open on cue to reveal the concerned face of his butler.

As Edith had never in her life been _marched_ anywhere by Sir Anthony Strallan, she was almost too shocked to note the stilted exchange that took place between the gentleman and his servant.

"Lady Edith and I will be in the study, Oakley."

"Very good, sir. Should I take the lady's coat, sir?"

Edith looked up just in time to see a denial forming on Sir Anthony's lips, but good manners prevented him from giving it voice.

"Of course."

Divested of the garment, she swept passed Sir Anthony and into the room she took to be his study. She waited restlessly for his butler to assist him out of his own coat. She thought this task took rather longer than was necessary. He wore no sling today. She had allowed herself to notice that much. He had simply been resting his hand in his pocket.

The study was a nondescript space, absent any human touches of character. She could not imagine him spending much time here. Did not want to imagine it. Instead, she nursed her anger, and tried to ignore the way her arm still tingled sweetly from where he had held her.

Bubbles of impatience were fizzing through her blood by the time he finally entered the room, but he spoke before she could launch an attack.

"You have something to say to me, Lady Edith?"

_Lady Edith. Lady Edith. Not dearest, or darling, or sweet one._

But the tone of his voice was like sunset and she found her own voice sticking in her throat. It took a second or two before she was able to summon it. When she did, much of her fury had bled away.

"You won't be aware, but I've been working at Abrams and Howard for some time now."

Sir Anthony's gaze wavered. He strolled over to the window, and spoke quietly to the empty pane of glass, "I am perfectly aware of that, thank you."

"How?" Edith was startled. She had factored in Mr Howard's deception. She had considered nothing further. But Sir Anthony didn't answer and a frightening suspicion began to form in her mind. "Please tell me- please, you didn't-"

"There was something you wanted to say?" he persisted, but she barely heard him.

It had been her cousin's recommendation that had opened doors to the law firm. It had! Oh, he'd always been evasive to the point of ignorance when she'd offered her thanks, but that was because he was scared of Mary's wrath. Wasn't it? Edith realised she no longer knew.

"I thought- Matthew-"

Sir Anthony was frowning.

"I know."

"How is it you suddenly know so much?"

She wasn't sure if it was an accusation. She wasn't sure of anything anymore. Not now he was finally standing in front of her- looking so dear, and tortured, and _real_, when for so long he had existed only as a shadow in her mind. It didn't seem possible.

"You _left_ me."

The words spilled over her defences.

Not you jilted me. Because today, now, she was realising that having been jilted was secondary to the gut-wrenching loss of having him _gone_ from her life.

He didn't immediately try to explain, or apologise. He didn't _say_ anything, but Edith would have sworn that when he looked across the room at her the pain in his eyes echoed through her soul.

"Where did you go?"

"I hardly know," he murmured, staring blindly out of the window again. "One place was much the same as another."

It hurt Edith to look at him. She tried to harden her heart. There was only one reason why she had come here tonight.

"I meant what I said, I won't accept the money. It should go to your sister."

"I've spoken to my sister."

"I won't take it!"

Money had never been what she'd wanted from him. Even in the days of her stupid impetuous youth. It had always been about so much more than that. She was insulted he would even suggest otherwise.

"I hope, given time, you will change your mind."

Edith shook her head, although Sir Anthony was obviously finding it hard to meet her gaze.

"It doesn't put right what you've done."

"That's not what it's for…"

"What then?" she demanded.

He finally looked back at her. His troubles clear in the lines on his face.

"I don't think-"

"At the very least you owe me an answer."

"Of course, you're quite right." He was staring blankly out of the window yet again. His voice was haunted when he next spoke. "It's simply that you are the dearest creature in the world to me. It was natural to leave you everything."

Edith held her breath for a second. Held all her hurt in stasis. She was determined to stay strong, although she felt wounded to her core.

"How can your words be so kind and your actions so cruel?" she asked, watching him flinch. "And I was never to know? Until- until-" she couldn't bring herself to say it.

"I had hoped, by then, you might see it in a different light. It is not so very much, after all."

"Anthony, it's a fortune," Edith whispered, forgetting herself, sighing his name like an endearment. She bit her lip. There was more. "And please, you mustn't sell your house!"

He finally registered surprise.

"You know about that too?"

"It's not Mr Howard's fault." Edith was quick to assure him. "I- I happened upon the information."

Sir Anthony was silent for a moment.

"It's my fault," he decided. "I knew I ran a risk every time I met with him."

"The risk of seeing me?" Edith stuttered. "How can you _say_ that?"

"Because I knew I could not trust myself to see you," he said to himself, as he braced his good hand against the windowsill.

"Is that why you left Yorkshire?"

"Not entirely."

He lifted his hand, and dragged it across his face. He looked just about as tired as Edith felt. In spite of all her misery, she hated this, seeing him in pain, seeing him displaced. He was supposed to live in that gorgeous red brick house with its splendid library and all of its modest charm.

Everything was such a hopeless mess.

"You should go back. It's your home."

"I wonder about that…"

"Is it-" Edith stopped and tried again. "Is it because you're worried about what people will say? Because truly, nobody cares about me that much-"

"_I _care about you that much."

Edith had rarely heard such intensity in his voice, and yet she could not contain the bitter little laugh that escaped her. He was doing it again, tormenting her with such beautiful words.

"Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

"You gave me back my life. Was I supposed to take yours from you?"

"Yes!" Edith cried, willing back her tears. "Yes, that is exactly what you were supposed to do! You were supposed to take my life and my love and you were supposed to make me your wife!"

Sir Anthony was pale, but there was a determination about him that scared Edith.

"I will forever regret my timing, and I will never forgive myself for causing you a moment's pain, but you must see it was for the best."

"I don't see that- I will never see that."

He closed his eyes against her words.

"Given time-"

"How much time?" she demanded, taking an involuntary step towards him. "You have already stolen a year of my life!"

"In a year you have become a successful, independent, political activist." The force of his reply surprised Edith. "How much more will you achieve in two years- five years- ten?"

"How much more could I have achieved with your support?"

"You will always have my support," he breathed difficultly.

"It doesn't count if you are simply working in the shadows smoothing the wrinkles out of my life!"

"That is all I have left myself the right to do."

"Stop it. Your misplaced sense of honour has already ruined my life once."

He looked wretched. She didn't mean to keep hurting him, but then she didn't believe he meant to keep hurting her either. The words simply ignited between them.

"Edith, your entire family knew it would have been wrong of me to marry you," he said quietly.

"My entire family has always thought anything that makes me happy is wrong!"

"I cannot believe that."

"How can you doubt it, when I know they have been just as beastly to you?"

"But they would not treat you with such-" he stopped himself. Edith watched him do it. Could see how carefully he chose his next words. "They would treat you infinitely better than me."

She stared at him. Just stared. Until she was confident that she was in full mastery of her voice.

"You think that because you don't know them. Not really. I am rather like the cuckoo in their nest," she said with a wry smile. "In all my life, Anthony, there has been only you who has taken the time to understand me."

He looked at her, properly, for the first time that evening. She felt it almost as strongly as she would have felt a physical caress. There was an expression of longing in his eyes that left her breathless.

"I wish you had told me this a year ago."

He reached for her hand. Edith didn't think he realised what he had done, and she was determined not to break the spell.

"I do not understand how you could not see," she said, bewildered. She felt the subtle flex of his fingers as she watched him grimace.

"It was as much as I could do to get through each day. I fear there was much I didn't see."

"What do you mean?" she whispered, tightening her grip, but he pulled away, looking shaken.

"I- I cannot- forgive me, my dear, you deserve the truth more than anyone, but tonight I cannot-"

"Then when?"

He looked up, his face ashen, she thought he would refuse to answer, but then his eyes focused on her face. She didn't know what he saw, but something in his expression changed.

"Tomorrow. Join me for dinner."

He suggested a restaurant that Edith knew well, if only by reputation. But he was leaving in the morning, wasn't he? Could she dare hope that he would stay? For her. Could she take that risk?

The real question, of course, was could she live with herself if she didn't?

"I will never forgive you if you aren't there," she warned him gravely.

A weary sigh escaped him.

"You should never forgive me anyway."


	3. Chapter 3: Interlude

**III.**

_"…for better for worse…"_

How did one prove to a woman that she was loved more than life itself when as a man you had no right to love her at all?

It was a question that Anthony had agonised over since his encounter with Lady Edith the previous evening. He declined the offer of a drink from the waiter, and prayed he could find an answer before the lady's arrival.

Dinner was almost certainly one of his worst ideas. But she had a right to the truths that he did know. And he thought he could deliver them, here, without fear of breaking down.

He looked around the restaurant, at the other diners who surrounded him. He envied the young couples, on the road to love, and he resented their older counterparts, content in matrimonial bliss. He had severed himself from these most human of joys. He had no wish to be reminded of the fact.

So why torture himself with one last supper?

Primarily because there was nothing he would not suffer if he thought it might be to her benefit.

He had expected her to be angry. He had not expected such bitterness. Every report he heard about her had spoken of her success. Her independence. Her determination to forge a life that was full of new hopes and promise… and love.

Yes, love. He knew about her newspaper editor.

Anthony had delved more deeply into the character of that man than he knew he had any right. And he had found nothing untoward. No reason to protest. He knew he had forced freedom on Edith. He was hardly in a position to object if another man claimed what he had relinquished.

He knew that- in his head.

But knowing something and feeling it were two entirely different matters.

And perhaps that too was why he was sitting in a London restaurant waiting for one last glimpse of the woman he loved.

Would it be the last? He told himself it must be. For both their sakes.

He accepted the waiter's next offer of a drink, although he refused to check the time.

She had said she would come.

_Why_ she would _want_ to see him again was unfathomable to Anthony. But then he had never been able to fathom her interest in himself. He was not handsome. He was not charming. He had never possessed the easy manners that made other men popular. He had one working arm and was at least twenty years too old for her. It was incredible to him that she had ever given him the time of day.

She had given him much more than that, and he had repaid her with betrayal.

If there was one consolation that Anthony clung to it was that she could not possibly hate him more than he hated himself. He should never have let things go so far. He should never have deluded himself into believing her wide-eyed dreams. He had lived too long and seen too much to excuse himself that failing.

By the time his empty glass had been refilled twice more, and the pitying stares of the waiter could no longer be ignored, he was forced to accept one more cruel truth.

Lady Edith was not coming to dinner.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV.**

_"…to have and to hold from this day forward…"_

Edith was in agony.

She couldn't believe that violence had broken out at the NUWSS rally. Or that she had gotten herself mixed up in the fray. Or that she was doomed to spend what might have been the most important night of her life locked in a police cell.

She buried her head in her hands.

Sir Anthony would be gone by the time they let her go. He would disappear, again. And she would be left with more unanswered questions to add to the catalogue that she already carried.

What would he think of her?

The question brought fresh pain. She had all but demanded to see him again. Would he think it a trick? A callous deception on her part? She was reminded of that afternoon so many years ago. Summer 1914. Mary's revenge. Would he believe the worst of her once more?

She tore her fingers through her hair and battled to stem her tears.

She had been put into a cell on her own, unsure if that was a privilege or a privation of rank. It was frightening to be alone, but she thought it might have been worse to find herself confined with some of the other female detainees. Just hearing their coarse shouts of abuse was enough to unnerve her.

"Lady Edith Crawley?"

She looked up with a jolt as her cell door was banged open. Her eyes were wide and full of fear. She wondered what was going to happen now?

"You're free to go."

The police constable delivered the news with annoyance, and more than a little scorn, but Edith could hardly believe what she was hearing.

"Unless you'd rather stay?" he sneered.

She shook her head and jumped quickly to her feet. Tired, disorientated, distressed. She barely knew what was happening. Nothing seemed entirely real. Until she saw him. Anthony. His name caught on a sob in her throat before necessity compelled her to close the distance between them and bury herself against his chest.

"My darling girl…"

She heard his voice, sank into his embrace, and felt safe for the first time in such a very long time.

She had never before been this close to him. Had never had the luxury of feeling her body pressed tight against his. She felt so small and soft and feminine, in comparison to the height and breadth and hard masculine planes of his body. His good arm was wrapped around her waist, keeping her where she was, which was exactly where she wanted to be. It felt so very right to stand within the circle of his protection.

"How-?" she choked, the word muffling itself against his chest.

"Did you think I wouldn't look for you?"

Edith couldn't answer that question, but she hid her face in the front of his coat to conceal her shame.

"But how-?"

"I may not be a Crawley, but I am not entirely without influence."

A tremulous smile finally flirted with her lips. She _liked_ this side of him. It reminded her of the old him. The confident him. At least he had been confident with her. Before Mary, and the war. She _didn't_ like it when he started to move. She clung to him more tightly, hands clutching at the fabric of his coat, but she relaxed a little when she realised he was only leading her outside.

The unexpected flash of a photographer's camera made her shy into his side.

"Stay close," Anthony murmured. As Edith's fingers were now clamped like a vice on his hand there was little danger in her not staying close! "Probably best not to say anything either," he advised quietly, leading her down the steps in front of the police station, and through a small gathering of reporters to his waiting car.

It was another instruction that Edith found extraordinarily easy to obey. She couldn't have distinguished the questions that were shouted at her even if she had been paying the reporters the slightest jot of attention.

She did manage to notice that Sir Anthony's chauffeur was waiting to open the car door for them. Anthony helped her in first, but was quick to follow. The driver made equal haste, and it seemed to Edith as though they set off almost as soon as she found herself seated.

She sank back into the leather upholstery, and let out a great shuddering sob.

"Please don't cry, my dear."

A clean handkerchief was pressed into her hands. It was dark inside the car, but not so dark that she couldn't see. She looked up to find Anthony watching her with an expression of anxious alarm. He looked a great deal more worried _now_ than he had inside the police station.

"S-sorry," she stammered, sniffing valiantly. "And thank you," she added weakly, fighting the rising urge to throw herself back into his arms. Arm. It had made no difference to how wonderful it had felt to be enveloped by his strength. She twisted his handkerchief fearfully around her fingers. "What will happen now?"

"Nothing. The charges against you have been dropped-"

"_Anthony."_

"-I realise this is just the sort of highhanded patriarchal intervention that you were protesting against, but they honestly had no evidence against you, and would have been forced to release you before too much longer, even without my interference," he said, speaking quickly, almost apologetically.

Edith felt a little sick with relief. She had always been firmly against the use of violence and the destruction of private property, and remained confident that political changes could be made without breaking windows and burning post boxes.

She personally thought it was harder to argue for women's full political inclusion when they persisted in acting in such an unlawful manner. She knew many disagreed with her on this point, and she could appreciate their anger and frustration. But she could only hope the actions of some of her compatriots had not damaged their cause today.

She did hope that- very fervently- but she also hoped, a great deal more selfishly, that they had not damaged _her_ in the eyes of the gentleman sitting by her side.

"It will be in all the newspapers," she said hopelessly.

"I'm afraid there was little I could do about that, although I suppose-" Anthony paused. Edith didn't care for his sudden frown. "You have friends in the press who would help you, no doubt?"

"That's not really the way they work," she said. She smiled ruefully. "Besides, it's- it's right that everything is reported," she added bravely. She began twisting the handkerchief again, which rather belied her fine words. "My father will kill me, of course."

"Lord Grantham will just be glad you're safe."

Edith slowly lifted her gaze from her lap and stared at Anthony. She did not think even he could truly believe those words. Before she could contradict them however, she noticed in which direction they were driving and sat up with alarm.

"You're not taking me to my Aunt Rosamund's house?"

Anthony looked surprised, "Of course, you shouldn't be alone tonight."

"But she won't be expecting visitors at such an unsociable hour."

"Well, no." He was frowning again, as though he couldn't understand her resistance. "But Lady Rosamund is your aunt. She will hardly object."

"I should rather go home with you." There. She had said it. In a voice watery with unshed tears. She tried to summon a shaky smile. "I have already spent most of the night in a police cell. I can't see how it will matter where I spend the remainder of it."

"You may not feel that way in the morning."

"I'm quite sure I will."

She sensed Anthony was trying to study her face. She wasn't sure what he was searching for- she could only hope he would find it. She felt him shift beside her. He leant forward to speak to the driver. Edith's spirits rose, as she listened to him give fresh instructions- instructions to return to his own London house.

Anthony sat back with a barely audible sigh.

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"I do," she whispered, resting her tired eyes for just a moment.

_I really do._

"Edith?"

She awoke with a jolt. And… lifted her head from Sir Anthony's shoulder… withdrew her hand from the crook of his arm… A blush stained her cheeks, but lord, how comfortable she had been, sitting snug at his side.

"I'm awake," she muttered sheepishly.

"Did I suggest otherwise?"

She heard his smile. It curled around her senses. She realised the car had stopped. The driver immediately jumped out to open the door for them.

Edith climbed out first, and soon started to shiver. The night air was cold and she had lost her coat at some point during the day. She hadn't noticed her loss until now, but then Anthony placed his hand on the small of her back. A delicious heat infused her body, as he gently guided her towards the front door.

Did he realise what he had done? He had never touched her with such unconscious intimacy before.

She took a heady breath, and tried to concentrate on the fact that Anthony's front door had swung open to reveal the troubled face of his butler for a second night in a row.

"Mr Oakley looks concerned," she whispered.

"No doubt he'll hand in his notice in the morning."

Edith looked up with a start, only to find from the slight tilt of his mouth, that he was teasing.

"Sir. Lady Edith." Mr Oakley greeted them formally, as they stepped inside the house.

"Thank you, Oakley. I'm sure Lady Edith must be hungry. Would you please see if Mrs Rodgers is still awake?"

"Sir."

Edith waited until the butler had vanished in the efficient manner of their breed before she contradicted her host.

"I'm not certain I am hungry."

The bright lights inside the house were making her head spin, particularly after the muted darkness of the night. Her breath caught in her throat, as Anthony gently lifted her chin with his left hand. Another touch she had been little prepared for- her emotions were almost too raw to endure it. She found herself pinned by his vibrant blue gaze, but she could not dislike the look of concern that he directed her way.

"You are very pale."

"I've had a difficult couple of days."

She wasn't certain if she imagined the brush of his thumb against her lower lip, but her knees felt almost too weak to hold her upright nevertheless. Somewhere a clock was chiming two o'clock.

"In that case, Mrs Rodgers will show you to your room."

How he had observed the housekeeper's arrival when he had never taken his eyes off her face, Edith would never know. He dropped his hand back down to his side and walked with her to the bottom of a flight of stairs. The matronly housekeeper nodded at Edith, and began to climb those same stairs, obviously expecting to be followed. Edith obediently climbed one step and then another, but then she couldn't stop herself from turning back to face Anthony.

"Tomorrow-"

"Tomorrow?"

"You will tell me everything you were going to tell me today?" she pressed. He gave a solemn nod. She nodded in reply, and then climbed another step, before once again turning back. "I'm so very glad you came to find me tonight!" she blurted, taking two quick steps down the stairs towards him.

He smiled- that hesitant, almost boyish, smile that she knew so well. And then he caught hold of her hand and raised it to his lips. Her heart throbbed in her chest, like a wound beginning to heal, as he laid a gallant kiss against her skin.

"Goodnight, Lady Edith."

"Goodnight," she whispered, not wanting to leave him now the time had come. She made herself turn away only at the sound of the housekeeper quietly clearing her throat.

Edith would not swear to it, and she did not turn again to check, but she was sure that she could feel the weight of Anthony's gaze following her every movement as she climbed the stairs to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**V.**

_"…in sickness and in health…"_

Sunshine spilled through the bedroom window. It was mid-morning, and Edith had just woken from a most deliciously restful sleep. True. This was not exactly how she had imagined spending her first night under the same roof as Anthony. But that they had spent a night under the same roof at all was in many ways a miracle.

She dressed quickly, in the clothes that she had worn the day before. Mrs Rodgers had found something adequate for her to sleep in, but suitable day clothes were rather harder to come by. Still, Edith thought she would do. It was lucky that she was used to fending for herself now. She was able to fix her hair and finish her toilette without the help of the housemaid who timidly offered her assistance.

Oh, her grandmother would have deemed her completely unfit for company, (after deeming her completely and utterly ruined), but Edith left the bedroom and tripped downstairs with a surprisingly light spring in her step.

She couldn't possibly keep from wondering if Anthony had risen yet too?

She paused in the doorway to his study, and saw that she needn't have worried. It didn't appear that he had even been to bed.

He sat at his desk in his shirtsleeves, writing in a thick black ledger. The dinner jacket that he had been wearing the night before was thrown carelessly over the back of a chair. His hair was mussed. It looked as though he had dragged his hand through it several times, and his tie hung loose around his neck, causing his shirt collar to gape and reveal a tantalising swathe of skin.

It was a state of dishabille that only a wife- or lover- should have seen, and Edith was acutely aware of the needy ache that had settled in the pit of her stomach.

She watched Anthony work for a few moments more, struggling to regain her sense of equilibrium. He was not naturally left handed, but he had obviously taken pains to master the skill. His pen strokes were slow, but confident and determined, and- and not helping Edith in her quest to right her senses!

She scolded herself soundly and took a decisive step into the study.

"Please tell me you have not been sitting there since two o'clock this morning?"

"Edith!" Anthony looked up in surprise. He stood to greet her as she walked over to him. "I didn't expect to see you this early."

"It's hardly early," she smiled, feeling inexplicably shy all of a sudden.

"You slept well?" he asked. "You look very well," he added softly.

"Thank you." Edith's cheeks grew warm. "I slept remarkably well, but I take it you did not?"

"There were a few things I needed to take care of," he replied, as though the fact he had been up all night was of little importance.

Edith could not accept the matter with a similar level of indifference. _Things like me?_ She marvelled_. And you were always so sure I would be the one taking care of you! _She gave her head an incredulous shake.

"And what were these things that couldn't wait until morning?"

She asked the question with a smile still on her lips, but it was a smile that was not returned. Anthony looked terribly serious.

"A telephone call to Downton Abbey to start with."

Edith blanched, "You _didn't_!"

"I had little choice." Anthony's expression was grim. "Can you imagine if we had waited until Lord Grantham read the newspapers this morning? I left a message for him with your Mr Carson."

"What did you say?"

"That you're safe."

"Until he comes for me!"

"In which case, we would only need worry about my safety, I think," Anthony said wryly.

Edith bit her lip. Times had not changed so very much. A young woman spending the night alone at the house of a man who was not her husband… She wondered if that had made it into the newspapers too?

"I've put you in a difficult position, haven't I?" she asked quietly.

Anthony looked troubled.

"I was worried you would think so this morning."

"You _don't_ think so?"

She tried to temper the hope in her voice. Tried to remind herself of all the reasons why she should _not_ make this easy for him. But time was their enemy, and she had been without him too long. Before she got an answer however, Mr Oakley arrived with a message.

"Good morning, Lady Edith." The butler nodded to her politely before turning to his master. "Sir Anthony, Doctor Rivers is on the telephone."

Anthony gave his distracted thanks, and then asked his servant to show Lady Edith through to breakfast. He promised Edith that he would join her shortly, and left her with little choice other than to follow Mr Oakley out of the study, which she did only with regret.

_Doctor_ Rivers? Edith couldn't like the sound of that, any more than she had liked the interruption.

But the sight of breakfast did prove a welcome distraction. She hadn't eaten since before noon the previous day and she was absolutely famished. She helped herself to as much as she thought proper, which was not as much as she would have liked, and then sat down to eat and wait for Anthony's reappearance.

His return took rather longer than Edith had anticipated. It was clear to see why when he entered the breakfast room wearing a fresh set of clothes. Edith did her best to hide her disappointment at having him so very properly attired again. He must have tried to hurry at least, because he did not appear to have taken the time to have his valet shave him, nor to have done anything but smooth a hand through his hair. His arm rested in a sling, the first time that she had seen him wear one in London.

"Forgive me for keeping you," Anthony apologised.

"You're forgiven."

There was a weight to her reply that made him stop with a start. She didn't add anything more however, instead choosing to busy herself with tea and toast until he had stopped staring at her. Only then did she lift her head to watch as he helped himself to something to eat.

He made light work of the task, even with the use of only one hand. Edith sighed, a little sadly, a little exasperatedly. Did he have any idea how very capable he seemed?

She waited until he was seated before she questioned him about his telephone call. She wanted to talk. She was afraid to dwell too deeply on the comfortable domestic scene playing out between them. She thought a nice general enquiry would broach the subject harmlessly enough.

"Nothing's wrong, I hope?"

"No."

It was a very careful 'no'. Edith looked at Anthony expectantly, forcing him to continue.

"Doctor Rivers simply wanted to know why I cancelled our appointment yesterday."

"Ah," she murmured, feeling slightly guilty, although not too guilty to press, "I hope it wasn't an important appointment?"

Anthony chewed slowly before replying. He had barely taken more than a bite of his meal, but he pushed the remainder of his breakfast away untouched. He sat back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose before surprising Edith with a question of his own.

"Have you heard of Craiglockhart?"

"It's a hospital, isn't it?" she frowned, laying down her fork. "In Edinburgh, I think?"

"A military psychiatric hospital, yes."

They watched each other guardedly across the table. Edith because she was feeling her way forwards tentatively, unsure of the ground beneath her feet. She didn't like to consider why Anthony should feel the need to be guarded with her.

"Are you going to tell me you were a patient there?" she asked cautiously.

"No. Not exactly. At least, I was never actually admitted," Anthony clarified. His tone was bitter, so unlike his usual voice. "I first spoke to Doctor Rivers after visiting a friend in his care. I've kept in contact with him ever since."

"I don't think I understand," Edith whispered.

Anthony looked grave, very grave. Edith was almost overwhelmed by the desire to reach out and touch him. Hold him. Anything to banish the bleak look on his face.

"That's why I'm trying to explain. The war damaged more than my arm, Edith. Sometimes I think I left my soul in France."

"Anthony-"

"Two days ago, you said I understood you. Well, you need to listen and try to understand what I'm about to say."

She nodded silently, not daring to speak again.

He shot her a look that spoke his thanks, before continuing difficultly, "I honestly can't tell you what broke me- because there wasn't one obvious incident. There were just endless days full of so many little moments of hell. I didn't even realise it at first, but when I came back to England, I brought them all with me. I pray to God that you will never know what it feels like to have your mind unravel.

"It's hard to remember everything, even now. I know there were days when I couldn't get out of bed. Weeks when I didn't sleep. Times when exhaustion finally took me. That was when I thought the nightmares were real. There was no single moment of peace." He spoke clinically, methodically, as though he had practised this speech, at least until his eyes met hers. His sad smile pierced her heart. "But then there was you. Trying so hard to fix me."

Edith stood up. She walked over to his chair. She couldn't stop herself. She didn't try. Nor try to check the tears that washed her cheeks. She had pushed him. Too hard. Too fast. Making demands of this dear, gentle man. Dismissing his every concern out of hand. When he had needed her to stop. To listen. To hear beyond the words that he was speaking. If only she had practised patience! She would be married by now. To him. And it would have been the greatest privilege of her life to be the one to offer him comfort.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Shame, I suppose." He rose to meet her. "I wanted so badly to be the man you deserved."

"You are so much more than I deserve!" she choked.

"Don't-" Anthony pleaded, his tone raw. "I didn't tell you this to make you cry," he said, as he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, catching her tears as they fell. Edith turned into his touch. "I just wanted you to know. Everything. A year ago, I could not trust myself- my judgement."

"You should have trusted mine," she chastised him gently. She laid one hand on his poor, ruined arm and the other on the warm hand that now cupped her cheek.

"In hindsight that is clear."

"It's my fault," she whispered, feeling as though she might break under the weight of her own guilt. "If not for my feud with Mary we could have been married before the war and you would never have had to fight at all."

Anthony was silent. Motionless. They had never properly spoken about that time. Edith almost panicked. He seemed so far away, but then he came back to himself, and she could once again see the kindness in his eyes.

"You're wrong, my dearest. I would still have witnessed the horrors of France. I would still have been injured."

"I would not have let you go!"

The ghost of a smile touched his lips, "Even you could not have stopped me. It was the right thing to do."

Edith broke free from Anthony's touch, dashing the tears from her eyes so that she might better glare up at him.

"Do you have any idea how much I hate your blasted sense of honour?"

"Somewhat." He winced. "This is the second time you've told me."

"Because I love you, yet you seem determined to sacrifice yourself and my happiness!" she exclaimed passionately.

Anthony froze.

Edith did too.

The declaration had burst forth with little conscious thought on her part, but she would not now withdraw one single syllable of it.

"You cannot still love me," Anthony breathed harshly. It was half question- half statement- part wonder- part pain.

"You can't make me stop."

"Sir Anthony!" Mr Oakley appeared in the doorway at precisely the wrong moment. Again. He looked decidedly harassed.

"Not _now_, Oakley!"

"But Sir! The Earl of-"

_"Where is she?"_

Edith jumped. Her mind was already reeling! She wasn't sure how much more she could take, but the booming sound of her father's voice carried throughout the house. She took a quite literal step backwards, and looked up at Anthony in very real fear.

"It'll be all right."

There was something in his tone, in the look in his eyes, that she found infinitely reassuring. She was certain he was the only reason she was able to stand and face the doorway with any semblance of dignity as the Earl of Grantham forced his way past Mr Oakley.

Her father looked angrier than Edith had seen in a very, very long time.

"Good morning, Papa," she said weakly.

"Outside. Now. The car is waiting."

Edith opened her mouth, but not a sound came out.

"Lady Edith has had a difficult time, Lord Grantham. Perhaps you might remember that fact?"

Oh, yes. Edith sighed inwardly. She was quite horribly in love with this man. She also had the desperately strong urge to go and stand in front of him when he became the focus of her father's furious gaze.

The Earl looked murderous.

"While I am forced to thank you for what you have done for my daughter, I cannot pretend to feel anything other than contempt for you, Sir Anthony, and to have brought Edith here is absolutely unforgivable!" Lord Grantham turned to his daughter. "What were you thinking? To have spent the night in this house! I hope you realise what was left of your reputation is utterly destroyed."

Edith and Anthony both started to speak, each voice raised in anger on the other's behalf, but neither of them got further than an undistinguishable exclamation before a new voice joined the fray.

"Good heavens, what is going on here?"

Edith stared in astonishment at the new face that entered the room. It belonged to a tall fair-haired lady of middling age with strangely familiar blue eyes.

"Mrs Chetwood!" Lord Grantham exclaimed.

"Your sister?" Edith turned sharply to Anthony. "Something else you were taking care of in the small hours of the morning?" she demanded, as the lady quite freely rebuked the Earl.

"I sent for her after you went to bed," Anthony replied, without taking his eyes off Lord Grantham. There was something just a little thrilling about the hard set of his mouth.

"I told you I did not care about the impropriety of my staying here."

"But as you see, your father cares very much."

And she saw that mattered to Anthony. But why? He could not possibly still care for Lord Grantham's good opinion. Unless- Unless he was aiming for something that he valued much more highly than Lord Grantham's good opinion? Edith suddenly thought she understood. At least she hoped she did, and that fresh understanding set her heart beating wildly.

"Edith, come here this instant! We're going home," Lord Grantham commanded, having finally cowed Mrs Chetwood into silence.

Edith didn't move.

"You mean to Downton?"

"Of course I mean to Downton! Your poor mother is beside herself! Have you seen what the newspapers are saying about the 'Earl's incarcerated daughter'?" he demanded. "I can only imagine what this scandal will do to your grandmother."

"Surely the Dowager will just be relieved that Lady Edith is unharmed and the matter was an unfortunate mistake?"

"Yes, of course, that goes without saying." Lord Grantham spoke stiffly, but just a little more gently.

"I will go and see Mamma and Granny," Edith said bravely. "But-" and here her voice wavered "-I have a life here in London."

"We will talk about it later, Edith."

"I mean it, Papa."

"So do I."

And then, conversation evidently over, the Earl of Grantham turned and left Sir Anthony's breakfast room, undoubtedly expecting his daughter to follow immediately after him.

She didn't.

Not immediately.

"You will go with your father?" Anthony asked.

"Yes." Edith nodded, reluctantly. "I do owe them an explanation. You could-" she forced herself to stop. No. No more pushing. "Thank you," she said instead, feeling self-conscious in front of his sister, who was watching them with unconcealed interest. "For absolutely everything."

Anthony didn't speak for a moment. It seemed he couldn't. He simply pressed her hand until he had found the right words.

"I know I've done a poor job of showing it, but you do know I love you?"

Edith's heart sang.

"You've done a remarkably wonderful, if somewhat unconventional, job of showing it actually," she laughed shakily. "I- I will see you again, won't I?" she asked, that was not so very onerous a question, was it?

"I think it rather likely, my darling."

"Soon?" she whispered, edging closer to him.

"Before you've had time to miss me."

* * *

**Acknowledgement:** I was first introduced to W. H. R. Rivers and Craiglockhart Hospital in Pat Barker's amazing novel _Regeneration_, although I'm afraid I've taken a few liberties with the facts; in real life Rivers was not at Craiglockhart (or indeed practising as a doctor) after the end of World War I.


	6. Chapter 6: Interlude

**VI.**

_"…thereto I plight thee my troth…"_

Anthony stood at the window of his library and stared outside at the darkening twilight, a tumbler of Scotch in his hand. Most of the furniture behind him was still covered by dust sheets. It was hard to reopen a house when you had less than a handful of staff willing to work for you. But it had been harder still to return to Yorkshire.

Few might believe him, but Anthony's difficulty lay not with the hostile stares of the locals, although he had worried momentarily for his safety when he was driven through the village. No. It was the memory of Edith in every room of his house. Rooms that she had never even entered, but of which she should now have been mistress.

He had stayed in London only so long as it had taken him to set his affairs in order, and to speak briefly to Charles Howard regarding 'Miss Crawley'. He could not be certain that his interference there had helped, but he was equally uncertain as to whether or not Edith wanted to return to her secretarial work.

He took a slow sip of his drink. There was one other appointment that he had made, but he dared not think too deeply upon it.

He had sent a note to Downton on his arrival in Yorkshire, wondering if Edith would be permitted to receive it. In this fear, at least, he had been uncharitable to the Crawleys. Her reply had been delivered a little over an hour ago.

_My dearest Anthony,_

_I cannot tell you how glad I was to read your letter. It is a shame  
you cannot rescue me from Downton as easily as you managed  
in London. But I am determined not to give up all my struggles  
for female equality, and so I will endeavour to escape my current  
incarceration tomorrow morning. I trust you will be home._

_Devotedly yours,  
Edith_

The message was no less precious to Anthony for its brevity. Even now, he could hardly believe that she would entertain the idea of him. That she could love him. It did not seem possible, not after everything that he had put her through, but it was becoming more and more difficult to refute the evidence, especially now he carried a piece of it in his breast pocket.

He did not want to refute it.

He had finally reached this realisation. He could not trust Edith's happiness to anyone else. His hand tightened around his Scotch glass. She might easily find someone younger, richer, _better_ than him, but no man could possibly love her more than he did. And he was no longer content to watch her life from the sidelines. It had been madness to think that would ever be enough.

She mattered to him in ways that he could barely comprehend. He had tried to set her free. Believing, mistakenly, it was for the best. He hadn't known that he was already bound. More eternally bound than any vows of marriage could bind him. His soul was wed to hers.

Anthony looked up at the sky, just as the first evening stars began to shine. He had loved Maud. And in many ways, he always would. But Edith was his heart. How he had ever lived without her, he didn't know. How he had thought he _could_ live without her equally baffled him. He was a fool. And if she would allow him to spend the rest of his life making it up to her then he would do so gladly.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII.**

_"…with my body I thee worship…"_

Edith was at odds with her entire family. But as this was not a completely unfamiliar state of affairs, she was doing a remarkably good job of not letting it trouble her. Still, their demands had been made perfectly clear to Edith from the first moment of her arrival at Downton. And those demands had been repeated with tiresome frequency ever since.

She was to give up her writing.

She was to give up her independence.

She was _certainly_ to give up Sir Anthony!

But Edith was not of a mind to give up anything. She had matured in London. She had discovered her own worth. And she had rediscovered his… She touched her pocket, where Anthony's letter lay, and smiled until her cheeks ached. He had followed her. She hadn't chased him, swayed him, plagued him. _He_ had followed _her_.

And he loved her.

She had always believed that to be true, but hearing those three precious words spoken aloud had calmed all of her fears. Everything would be fine. She knew it. His love had given her courage that she hadn't known she possessed.

A tap at her bedroom door forced Edith to wipe the smile from her face. She barely had time to call 'come in' however, before Mary marched into the room.

Few visitors could have been less welcome than her sister. Dinner that evening had been an awkward affair. Again. Matthew alone seemed able to carry on as though nothing had happened. As though Edith hadn't been arrested. As though she didn't have every intention of renewing a relationship with the man who had jilted her at the altar.

"You have a letter," Mary said, closing the door behind her. "_Not_ from Sir Anthony," she added sharply.

Edith had rather lit up at the prospect, but she was quick to put her disappointment aside. She took the envelope from her sister's hand. Mary watched her as she read.

"The man who left it said he was in the area 'covering a story', and had been asked to drop it off on his way to York. It's from your newspaper editor, isn't it?"

"It is, yes," Edith said slowly.

She was having a little trouble understanding exactly what she was reading, but a smile was once again fighting for purchase on her lips. She handed the letter over to Mary, once she had finished a second reread. There was just the slightest hint of smugness in her manner.

Mary accepted the correspondence with a frown. She read quickly. Edith bit the inside of her lip in an effort to keep from positively _beaming_, as her sister's frown grew more pronounced the more she read. Mary's mouth was pinched in a thin line of displeasure by the time she had finished.

"I don't understand. What does it mean?" she demanded, looking up, her intelligent eyes probing. "What photograph is he talking about?"

"It was taken when I was leaving the police station in London. I did wonder why it hadn't been featured in any of the newspapers," Edith said, fingers touching her pocket lightly.

The stories had been quite damaging enough. A photograph would have been positively damning. That didn't matter to Edith. What mattered to her was what the absence of the photograph represented.

Mary was still studying the letter in her hands, as though trying to reconcile two contrary facts.

She didn't appear to be succeeding.

"Are you telling me, Sir Anthony Strallan had the foresight- not to mention the means- of purchasing this photograph before anyone from the press?"

"_I'm_ not telling you anything, but that does appear to be what the editor of _The Times_ is intimating," Edith said sweetly.

She cast her mind back to that momentous night, such a short time ago, to the image of Anthony sitting at his desk, exhausted and dishevelled, and working tirelessly to salvage the mess that she had made of her reputation. She simply could not stop smiling.

Mary did not appear to share her delight, "And this bit?" she demanded, quoting the letter directly. "'Having finally accepted your happiness is not reliant upon me, I wish you every possible joy for the future.' What does that mean?"

"Nothing, really," Edith said, rather dismissively. "He's an incorrigible flirt that's all. I think I upset his ego terribly by not falling in love with him."

"Oh splendid!" Mary snapped. "And that was in compliment to Sir Anthony too, no doubt?"

"No." Edith looked rather puzzled for a moment. "After all, I hadn't seen Sir Anthony since he- that is, for almost a year. I'd put him out of my mind."

"Yes, I can see that!" Mary said sharply. She took a breath and curbed the irritation in her voice. "Edith, please help me to understand."

"To understand what?"

"Why you persist in making a fool of yourself over that man!"

Edith sat down on the edge of her bed and stared at her hands. What could she say? Nothing that would make sense to Mary. But she settled on the truth. A truth that had slowly been revealing itself to her from the first moment that she had heard his voice in the offices of Abrams and Howard.

"Because I love him," she said quietly. "I will always love him. And my love is an awful lot stronger than my pride."

Mary smiled, an odd smile, not exactly warm, but somehow strangely satisfied, and then, curiously, she folded Edith's letter neatly in half and kept it safely in her hand.

"Don't let Granny hear you say anything against the Crawley pride," she said tartly, and then, "He hurt you."

"I know. But I know he was hurt too. He needs me," Edith sighed wistfully. "Oh, not like everyone supposes," she added quickly, "Although, I shouldn't mind that either, but he needs me to remind him of what a wonderful man he is when he forgets. And- and I need him too."

"I suppose you have made up your mind to have him, in spite of everything?"

"I don't think my mind was ever unmade."

"Matthew thought as much," Mary nodded. There was a decided look about her that Edith recognised very well from their years growing up together. "Which is why we must act quickly."

"Pardon?"

It was Edith's turn to frown.

"You must pack a bag," Mary continued brusquely. "As you can drive there will be no difficulty in getting to him." Edith stared at her sister in absolute shock, and more than a little wonder. _This_ was why Mary always got her own way. "It's far easier to ask forgiveness than permission," she said simply, as though Edith were a simpleton. "Papa will not be able to do a thing once you've married the man."

Edith could only continue to stare at her sister for several long seconds, "Why are you doing this?"

"Guilt, mostly. And also, I simply cannot bear to have you moping around the house again."

Edith smiled tightly, "Thank you, I think."

"Then it's decided." Mary nodded. "If you slip out now no one will miss you until breakfast. I can make sure no one tries to disturb you before then."

"You would really do that?" Edith marvelled, heart beginning to race with excitement, every fibre of her being yearning to seize this chance. "For me?"

"Shocking, isn't it?"

Edith thought it prudent not to reply. But she did wonder if she should be ashamed by how easily she was persuaded. She was becoming more liberal by the day.

But after all, Anthony had come to Yorkshire. It was only right to meet him halfway, Edith reasoned, as she and Mary sorted through the bare minimum of what she might need. He had proven many things to her over the past few days. She was not above proving to him that she still wanted him far more than propriety dictated was proper.

Minutes later, the two sisters crept downstairs, carrying the bag that they had hastily prepared between them. They managed to avoid the servants and the family, and slipped out one of the back doors of the house, whereupon Edith found herself forced to thank Mary again.

It was disconcerting to say the least.

"You needn't sound so perturbed," Mary said, apparently reading Edith's tone correctly. "We are sisters after all, and I must say, I've found it infinitely easier to get along with you these last few months."

"I've been in London these last few months."

"I know."

Edith rolled her eyes and bit her tongue, but goodbyes were said, good luck was wished, and hugs were, awkwardly, given, before she found herself walking away from Downton Abbey.

She felt a momentary pang in the region of her heart. Downton had been her home for almost all her life. She should feel guilty, but all she felt was relief- relief and a sense of freedom that almost made her cry. The future lay on the road before her, and she had taken the first step towards it.

She did not follow Mary's advice to the letter, however. She didn't take one of her father's cars. It was not an insurmountable walk to Anthony's house, and Edith thought it quite likely that someone would hear a car driving away. She was also not entirely sure that her father wouldn't prosecute her for theft- given the mood he was liable to be in when he found her gone.

Besides, the long walk helped to settle Edith's nerves. It was a mild night, lit by stars, and it all seemed rather like a dream. She was almost embarrassed that she had needed Mary's prompting to set her on this course of action. She was not naïve enough to think that Anthony wouldn't be troubled when he saw her. She couldn't imagine that _he_ had imagined she would turn up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, but she was confident she could soothe away his worries.

Edith needed all of that confidence when it came to knocking on Anthony's front door. She was somewhat relieved to be greeted by a familiar face.

"Mr Oakley! You came up from London too?" she smiled at the butler, who was staring back at her with a look of amazement. "Is Sir Anthony about?"

"He's in the library, Lady Edith."

"Is he? Excellent. I know the way. Might I trouble you to take this?" she asked, handing him her bag before he could say anything else.

Wearing her newfound confidence like a suit of armour, Edith walked the familiar path to Anthony's library. The door was standing slightly ajar, a shaft of light illuminating the corridor. She hesitated only a moment before slipping inside.

Anthony must have heard the light tread of her footsteps for he looked up from the book that he was reading almost immediately. A myriad of emotions played across his face, far too quickly for Edith to decipher them all.

"What's wrong?" he asked, rising from the chair in which he had been sitting, the only one in the room that was lacking a dust sheet, Edith noted absently.

"Nothing," she laughed shakily. "Not exactly. Not unless you count leaving Downton as _wrong_?"

She would not say running away. She wasn't running away. She was running _to_ something. Someone. Him.

"Edith," he sighed her name. She adored the way he made it sound as though it belonged to him. "I thought we were going to do this properly?"

"We tried properly before. It didn't work out too well for us." He was _just_ starting to make her nervous. She babbled on, "I thought we might see how we faired with improperly."

"Improperly?"

There was something about the way he said the word, and the way he looked at her as he spoke, that made Edith's pulse pick up a beat.

"Mary says it's better to ask forgiveness than permission."

"Your sister Mary?" Anthony did not sound pleased. The warm light in his eyes flickered and died.

"She has a point."

Anthony didn't immediately answer. He walked over to his desk and picked up a thick white envelope. He stared at it seriously for a moment.

"I know about the photograph!" Edith blurted, to fill the tense silence.

Anthony looked up abruptly.

"How-!" and then he frowned, his expression shuttered. "I suppose your gentleman from the newspaper told you?"

Understanding came quickly to Edith. Sweet and swift was the realisation of what troubled her beloved. She shouldn't take pleasure in his jealousy, but it was hard not to feel a little appeased.

"He is not my gentleman," Edith said firmly. She had followed Anthony across the room, just to be near him. "_My_ gentleman is the dearest, kindest, cleverest man I know," she continued, gazing up at him. "Sometimes I fear I must be a continual nuisance to him."

"You could never be that," he said tenderly. The way he looked at her soothed her soul. "Edith, I presume all of this- Lady Mary's contribution- your arrival here tonight- is because of your father? My dear, I do not think he will give me his permission _or_ forgiveness in this lifetime. However-" he finally handed her the envelope that he had been toying with "-I have made my peace with that fact. I have no intention of asking Lord Grantham for your hand."

"You aren't going to ask Papa if you can marry me?"

Edith's fingers trembled as she opened the envelope. But she had faith in him, faith that she had not been mistaken. Faith that was rewarded when she finished fumbling with the envelope and saw what it contained.

"No. I was going to ask you, my darling."

Edith looked between Anthony and the special marriage licence, signed and authenticated, and complete with their names. She looked up at Anthony again. He was wearing a slightly crooked, slightly uncertain smile. She laid the very important document down with the utmost care and tried not to smile too widely at him in return.

Not just yet.

"You _were_ going to ask me?"

His own smile grew until it reached his eyes, and then he took her by the hand and led her to his chair. She sat down, which was just as well, her legs felt terribly weak.

Anthony dropped to one knee in front of her. She enjoyed the novel experience of looking straight into his face. Her fingers ached to trace the strong line of his jaw, but he didn't for a moment let go of her hand. She wondered if he could hear the way her heart was pounding in her chest?

"Edith, my sweet, whatever you say next, know that I will love you forever," Anthony began in earnest. "To know you has been the greatest blessing of my life. I have no right to ask, but please, I beg you, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

She was nodding before he had even finished speaking.

"Yes, oh yes!" she cried, and threw herself into his arms- arm, unbalancing them both.

They landed in a tangle on the floor. Edith didn't mind in the slightest, and, if the look of awe on his face was anything to judge by, Anthony may not have immediately registered her lack of decorum.

"You mean it?" he asked, touching her cheek, his voice cracking with emotion. "Even though I am old and crippled and have let you down in the worst possible way?"

"Yes," she said simply.

There was no argument in the world that she could have made more sincerely. She stared at him adoringly, without even attempting to disentangle herself from her position on his lap. In fact, she caught hold of his ruined hand, kissed it, and then tenderly placed his arm at his side, so that she might press her body flush against his and wrap her arms around his neck.

"I love you more than anything," she sighed warmly.

"So you persist in saying, though I cannot understand why."

There was a husky timbre to his voice that Edith hadn't heard before. It set off the most delicious ache inside her body. As did the fact that he could not seem to drag his eyes from her mouth. She moistened her lips instinctively.

"Anthony…"

The needy whisper of his name provoked him into action. Edith's eyes fell shut at the first gentle brush of his mouth. She had waited a lifetime to be kissed with such exquisite care. He did not rush and he did not take. He coaxed her need from her until she burned for him.

She clung to his shoulders as he deepened the kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating. She pressed herself closer, revelling in the hard, solid presence of him. There was no room in her head for anything other than her desire for this man.

She could never have waited a year, if he had kissed her like this before…

Her eyelids were heavy, her lips swollen, when he finally pulled back.

"Don't stop," she whimpered.

"I must-"

Though he did kiss her once more, a searing, hard buss that made her clench with need.

"I want you."

"I am not going to take you on the library floor," Anthony said with difficulty.

Well! She had thought they might have made it upstairs to a bed, but even though the notion should have shocked her, Edith found she was not opposed to being taken on the library floor. It sounded wonderfully wicked. Her voice was breathless when she spoke.

"I wouldn't mind."

"_Edith."_

She hadn't known he could growl. It made her want to kiss him again. And more. She didn't know why she'd never considered it before, but gentlemen really wore far too many clothes. Tie, jacket, shirt, waistcoat…

"Don't you want me?" she whispered, although she could feel that he did.

"I want you very much," he confessed, tone ragged, his eyes had never looked so blue, "but I truly would never be able to look Lord Grantham in the eye again if I made love to you tonight."

Edith sighed softly and leant her forehead against his. She hadn't known that it could be painful to want a man- this man- so much.

"I suppose you would not be you and I would not love you so desperately without your wretched sense of honour."

"I will make it up to you," he promised, his words heavy with intent.

"I know you will," Edith breathed. She eagerly looked forward to discovering exactly what that meant… "I suppose we should be leaving anyway," she murmured, stroking her fingers against the nape of his neck. "Mary has only promised to keep our secret until the morning. And I am quite desperate to make an honest man of you."

Anthony's throaty chuckle delighted her, as did the fact that he could not seem to stop touching her. The gentle caress of his fingertips stoked a dozen smouldering fires beneath her skin.

"Might I ask where we're going?" he enquired, making no immediate move to get up.

"Anywhere. I don't care. So long as I'm with you."


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_"…to love and to cherish…"_

"Good afternoon, Lady Strallan."

"Good afternoon, Rose. And please, won't you call me Edith?"

Truth be told, she did still smile rather stupidly whenever she heard her new name. Though it was not quite so new anymore. She had been thoroughly enjoying wearing it in over the past few months.

"Is Sir Anthony still with Mr Howard?" she enquired.

At the secretary's nod, Edith asked if she might wait for him. She gazed rather fondly at her old desk for a moment (much to the bemusement of its new occupant), and then strolled across the office to look out of the window.

Edith stood, with a hand resting unconsciously on her stomach, and watched the world go by, waiting for Anthony to finish his meeting with his solicitor.

There was nothing about the meeting to alarm her today, merely matters of routine business to be attended to. _She_ had not returned to work at Abrams and Howard following her marriage. But she had continued all of her political activities, along with her writing, all with the full and frank support of her husband.

_Her husband._ The thought brought a fresh smile to Edith's face. She would never, ever tire of those two words. She was as happy as any woman had a right to be, and she intended to make it her life's work to see that Anthony was equally as happy.

She was not doing too badly, even if she did say so herself.

His arm and his age still bothered him, of course. They probably always would. He had not dared mention either for some weeks however, not since, driven to despair one day by his futile complaints, Edith had pointed out that none of them knew the future. She could quite easily fall down the stairs and break her neck tomorrow! Anthony had turned pale at that remark, but he had not brought up the subject of his arm or age again.

In fact, since the very beginning of their marriage, he had more often found time to tell her how she brightened his world. Brought a sense of freshness to his life, which he had thought forever lost. Edith was enchanted. To a woman who had always been overlooked, it was as wonderfully terrifying as it was novel to be the centre of someone else's world.

Of course, there were a few shadows cast over their happiness.

The nightmares still came.

But Anthony promised Edith that they were not nearly so frequent as they had been, and she prided herself on the fact that he slept more easily when she was tucked against his side.

A private smile lit her face. How she loved those intimate moments when they were alone. When she lost herself in him. In being everything that a woman could be to a man. As he was everything to her. Lover, husband, friend. She felt complete. Like she had found her soul mate. A piece of herself that had been missing until the moment he made her whole.

It had been a long, painful road to happiness, but that made the destination all the sweeter. She appreciated everything that she had now so much more than if love had simply landed in her lap. She didn't mean to take a single moment for granted.

"Edith?"

She turned at the sound of her name. Anthony looked surprised, but undoubtedly pleased, to find her waiting for him.

Edith spoke a kind word of greeting to Mr Howard, who had also appeared, but only truly had eyes for her husband. Marriage suited Anthony. He looked younger and stronger than he had done in years. Even his sister had commented on the improvement that his wife had wrought.

Still smiling, Edith murmured some nonsensical excuse about having been passing by, and having popped in on the off chance of catching her husband. But her eyes said quite clearly that she had come for the express purpose of meeting him.

Mr Howard pressed Sir Anthony and Lady Strallan into accepting an invitation to dine before the couple were able to escape. He would insist on taking his share of the credit for their current state of matrimonial bliss.

And so it was a few minutes later that Edith and Anthony emerged from the solicitor's offices onto the street. Anthony continued to regard his wife with a mixture of puzzlement and pleasure. Edith returned his gaze with such a glow of contentment that he felt compelled to comment upon it.

"I'm not sure what I've done to deserve that look, but I'm very grateful nonetheless."

"You don't have to do anything."

Edith took her husband's arm and savoured this moment of closeness before speaking again.

"You will never guess who telephoned this morning," she said casually. Anthony did not even attempt to guess, but he looked down at her enquiringly, keeping his stride matched with hers as they walked. "Mary." Edith did _try_ not to smile at the way her husband's features automatically stiffened. She continued blithely, "We've been invited to Downton for Christmas."

Anthony returned her smile, nodded, and then said pleasantly, "That sounds awful."

Edith could no longer contain a laugh.

"I thought you would be pleased!"

"An invitation to spend our first Christmas with your family, why would I not be pleased?"

"We do not have to _stay_ at Downton," Edith giggled, pressing his arm. "I seem to recall you have a rather lovely house in the neighbourhood."

"_We_ have a house in the neighbourhood," Anthony corrected her gently.

"Where we can escape when they become too terrible."

They had not actually gone back to 'their house' since their elopement, although any lingering intention that Anthony might have clung to in regards to selling the property had been swiftly curtailed by his new wife.

And now, Edith was growing increasingly desperate to go _home_. She and Anthony had stayed in Scotland and London, and briefly travelled the cities of Europe, but now she was keen to return to Yorkshire and establish herself in the family seat of the Strallans.

"You have accepted the invitation, I suppose?"

"I told Mary I would have to ask you first," Edith said demurely. "But I do think it is a splendid idea. I know you miss Yorkshire, Anthony. I saw you positively pining over your farming journals last week. Don't you see, this will make it so much easier for us to go back."

"You will miss London."

"There is nothing that keeps me in London that I will not be taking back to Yorkshire."

"Your writing-"

"Anthony, I can write wherever I have ink and a typewriter!" Edith scolded him, before suddenly changing tact. "Besides, I had been thinking that it might be necessary to move somewhere more wholesome in a few months anyway."

He looked bemused, "Whatever do you mean?"

"Just that- that is- I've always thought it would be nicer to raise a family in the country."

"Edith?"

Anthony pulled her to a stop in the middle of the pavement. He stared down into her face as though he was trying to read her thoughts.

"I was going to tell you over dinner," she smiled apologetically.

She had been going to announce it all so perfectly and properly, but Mary's telephone call had rather thrown her into a state of unbridled elation. More so than she had been in already. Edith hadn't realised that she could be any happier, but the prospect of her family's final acceptance of her marriage had been the figurative icing on the cake.

"Tell me now," Anthony begged. "You're not-"

"I am," she glowed. "I most certainly am. I saw the doctor this morning. He confirmed what I already suspected."

"And you are- you are both-" Anthony didn't seem quite able to formulate a whole sentence.

"We are both in perfect health," Edith laughed. She leant into her husband's touch as he tenderly cupped her cheek, blissfully unaware of the stares of the passers-by who were forced to manoeuvre around them.

"I was so worried that I would not-"

"I know," she said, reaching up to cover his hand with her own. "You worry an inordinate amount, darling." A tiny frown furrowed her brow. "And now I have given you someone else to worry over. You will _try_ to enjoy this, won't you?"

"I may not have a choice." His eyes looked suspiciously bright, as though with unshed tears. "Edith, I told you once that you had given me back my life. I was wrong. You have given me so much more than that, my sweet one."

She gave her head the tiniest of shakes, "You're wrong. It is you who has given everything to me."

"I have the strongest need to kiss you," he sighed wistfully.

"In the middle of the street?"

"Do you suppose anyone will mind?"

"Does it matter?" Edith whispered, already standing on tiptoes.

"Not in the slightest."

**_- fin -_**

* * *

Well now, thank you for sticking with me until the end. I've had an absolute blast writing this story. It's been so much fun! A huge thank you to you all for reading, reviewing, following and fav'ing- it wouldn't have been half so much fun without you!


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